Mind Games
by Demitri475
Summary: Following Wolverine Origins. In a stroke of genius Stryker makes an addition to Team X, a woman! Emmalina's struggle to earn respect from the team, and not kill each of the men in the process. Multiple possibilities for romance to ensue. Wade/OC/?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the amazing Marvel universe._

**Summary: Following Wolverine Origins. In a stroke of genius Stryker makes an addition to Team X, a woman! Emmalina's struggle to earn respect from the team, and not kill each of the men in the process. Multiple possibilities for romance to ensue. Wade/OC/? . Rated for language and future sexuality/ violence.**

Author's Note: I haven't written a fic in forever... so please be kind. I loved how Team X was portrayed in the movie and will stay fairly true to those characters. Also, I can't stand Mary Sue characters... or the perfect character. Sure everyone wants to be one but everyone wants to kill them too. Sorry that this first chapter is so short. They'll be longer after this. Promise!

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The bunker was dark and dingy, trickles of moisture streamed down the walls resulting in a damp and musty odor. The smell of it would never leave they're clothes. Of this they were sure. Looking around the cement glistened but at least this place was safe, a place to hang your hat between missions. And god, it had been a while since they had a chance to hang their hats, lay back and relax. For a few of them, who didn't have regenerative abilities, it was a time just to heal up. The bunker contained a labyrinth of interconnected rooms; medical facilities, places for sleeping and eating, and places locked off that none of the hired men saw. But hey! When you got paid enough and got away with even more there were a lot of things that no longer mattered, or you learnt to ignore.

In one of the underground quarters, lined with bunks and a handful of chairs, was an odd combination of characters, each having only in common their employment to the US government and a unique set of abilities that held them above the rest in their particular field of employment. All seven men had a particular mutation that allowed them to be faster, stronger, and more accurate when it came to killing. Around a wooden crate, serving as a table sat four of the men playing a game of poker. Littered across the table were multiple forms of currency and an assortment of trinkets; turned up were 2 black 4's and a queen.

"You callin' Dukes?" asked a dark man wearing his ever present cowboy hat to the massive hulk of a man sitting beside him.

"Give me a minute, Wraith. I'm thinking…. Yeah, I'll call. Jimmy?"

Sitting beside Fred Dukes, tilting in a chair sat a feral man, roughened by the elements, and built solidly. He brushed his hand along the scruff of his sideburns, taking a long drag from the cigar dangling from his lips.

"Throw in a couple of those Cubans, will ya Bub? And I'm all matching that bet Vic or you out? Poker never was your game… was it?"

Vic, or Victor Creed to those who knew to fear him, threw down his cards and flipped the crate, his yellow tinted nails quickly extending, a low growl sounding from his throat as he crouched down eyeing his prey.

"Temper… Temper. You always had a way of messing up the game." All the while teasing, James 'Jimmy' Howlett allowed his own bone claws to extend from his knuckles.

Around the room the rest of the men went back to their tasks at hand. Leaning against the furthest wall a regal looking man with black hair and slated charcoal eyes cleaned one of many guns strapped to his incredibly proper army cargos, always with an eye of the events unfolding in the room but never commenting. Zero was used to this and knew only furniture would get broken. No need to say anything; let them bleed this argument out.

On a bottom bunk sat a small wiry man, an odd quiet character, played with a light bulb. With minimal focus the light blinked on, and then off, clearly his attention was not on the men about to viciously maul one another. A display of boredom was clear on his face.

Above him, on the top bunk, laying on his back a lean, but well-muscled man sharpened his katana, one of two swords in his possession. Dressed in a pair of worn sweats and nothing else his eyes flashed with humor. "Ladies, you wanna take it outside? I just refurnished those chairs. It would be a shame if they broke. And you know blood is just about impossible to get out of these potato sack sheets. M-m-m-m so soft." A grin now on his face he swung himself down from bunk. "Why can't we all just play nice. This is exactly why we can never go out anywhere. Personally, with all my talents and abilities, dancing, singing, just to name a few, I'm sick of being stuck here, babysitting, because you lovely ladies can't behave. It's a shame…"

"Don't you ever shut up, Wade?" growled the burley feral, his gnarly nails now fully extended.

"Not while I'm awake." replied Wade Wilson, running his fingers through his thick brown hair, the ever present smirk still showing.

Contracting his bone claws Jimmy sniffed at the air. "Will you all be quite for one fuckin' minute?! Stryker's coming down the hall and he has someone with him."

"Maybe he's bringing the mutant he mentioned while en route from South America. The one from the government agency… the private consultant." Suggested a voice from the bottom bunk.

"Bradley's probably right. I don't know why we need any one else though. Brinin' someone new on board now, it's gonna complicate things, ya know. This ain't gonna be good." Pulling his cowboy hat lower over his forehead he teleported himself to one of the other bunks, flashing in and out of space he rested against the backboard.

The foot steps could now be heard echoing through the cement corridor outside of the quarters and the room quieted. All the men wearing varying items of military apparel spread out facing the doorway, all eyes on the door, all except one still focused on the light bulb, always blinking. With a metal whoosh the bunker doors open showing a silver haired man, Major William Stryker.

…

"Men. I would like to introduce you to the newest member of Team X, Ms. Emmalina Costa. She is on loan to us from the government of the United States of America. If any damage is done to Ms. Costa while in our custody I will be holding each and every one of you responsible. So, make the lady feel welcome soldiers."

"I could make the lady feel real welcome…" Wade's snarky remark died on his lips as Stryker walked away.

Behind Stryker was a highly unexpected sight. She could only have been a couple of inches over 5 feet, standing in a room of men all surpassing 6 feet made her look, if possible, even smaller. Even with this her spine was ramrod straight, her petite body commanded the attention of the room around her. She wore thick dark blue pants, like those worn by Navy Seals, and a black turtle neck with the sleeves rolled to reveal pale forearms. On her feet were military issue black boots. She was not new to the military world, but so completely different from the average woman found in their line of work.

While bizarre enough as a female presence, her appearance clearly stamped her as a mutant. Her skin was pale, not pasty or the paleness of death, but pure unblemished alabaster, as though she hadn't been in the sun and hidden underground for years. Her skin seemed almost surreal yet her cheeks were tinted with a flush of pink. Her hair was the lightest shade of blonde, not quite white, with just a hint of gold running through its obvious heavy length. As if to seem forceful and official, it was held back in a no nonsense bun. All of these things, however uncommon in a military facility, were not what marked her as a mutant. What marked her were her eyes. Her eyes, large and thickly lashed, sitting in the small, captivating heart-shaped face, were completely black. No irises or pupils were visible within the dark pitch of the color. The image was slightly disconcerting.

Looking each man in the eye, arching a golden brow she parted her rosy lips and spoke, "Good evening boys. As you have already heard, I am Emmalina Costa. I am a professional and I expect to be treated like one. The skills I possess have the potential to be very beneficial to this operation. I've heard that I'm working with the best of the best. I've seen the "best of the best" before and so far I am highly unimpressed." Looking around at the debris scattered around the floor from the forgotten game, she continued, "Boys will be boys I suppose."

Shrugging her delicate shoulders she turned to follow Stryker from the bunker. Stopping mid-stride she slowly turned, eyeing up the room, suddenly looking much more imposing. "Oh, and please stop staring at my ass as I walk away. It's highly inappropriate, wouldn't you say?" With the quick hint of a smile she turned and left a silent, shocked room.

…

"What the hell was that? Was that a frail giving us orders?" Victor asked, suddenly breaking the silence with a snarl.

Breaking from his own stunned silence Logan countered, "Not just any frail but a "professional"! A professional what?"

"Maybe she's here to give us rubdowns after missions. Ya know? Like a professional masseuse. Ya'll think she specializes in happy endings?" John Wraith asked with a grin.

"Control yourself, John." Commented an annoyingly reprimanding voice, "That, my fine fellow soldiers, is what we here in the great country of America like to call a lady. A lady with a mighty fine ass… Personally I have no problem finding out what the repercussions might be to my future 'inappropriate' behavior." climbing back onto his bunk Wade continued to sharpen the katanas.


	2. Chapter 2

_**0200 hours – Military base of confidential location near American / Mexican border**_

Turning from the men's sleeping quarters she quickened her pace to accommodate the distance already covered by the Major. Quickly catching up she stared straight ahead down the narrow corridor taking in the cement and cold steel so common among old military bases. After her last assignment in the frigid northern regions of the Soviet Union she had been promised 1 month leave… a leave she had yet to see. She could already tell this placement was going to be a long one. Breaking from her thoughts Emmalina realized that the Major had begun his "guided tour" of the facility. She set aside her confusion in being so easily distracted and blamed it on the hasty arrival at the facilities. She was usually much more focused on absorbing her surroundings; jetlag was the only explanation. She glanced at the Major giving him the majority of her attention.

"I took the privilege of assuming that a woman such as yourself would appreciate quarters separate from the rest of the team. The men are fine soldiers, but many of them make for poor mannered men. I apologize in advance for any of their remarks. And here we are, Ms. Costa. Your rooms."

The Major directed her to a set of solid steel doors. Inlaid into the steel was a type of touch pad, which Emmalina could only assume was a type of pin pad for the lock. Entering a series of numbers the Major opened the door.

"And here we are. I hope everything is acceptable. The password to these doors can easily be changed." He typed in a series of numbers and turned to Emmalina allowing her to do the same. "Due to the late hour I will continue you debriefing at 0730 hours tomorrow. I will send someone to accompany you to my offices. Breakfast for the staff will be served in the Mess Hall at 0700 hours. I am sure you will find it easily enough. Have a good night, Ms. Costa."

And with this Major William Stryker turned and disappeared down the endless corridors. Emmalina had never had much of a sense of direction so she had no idea how she was to find the Mess Hall in the morning. Perhaps the good old Major had read more into her personal files then previously let on. She would deal with this new development in the morning. Turning to the quarters assigned to her, she noticed that her duffle bag had already been carelessly thrown into the room. Entering the room, firmly closing the door behind her, Emmalina lifted the simple, faded canvas bag. She had had this exact bag since her enlistment into the military now nearly 7 years ago. Emptying out its contents into the single set of drawers occupying the room, she allowed herself a fleeting moment of self-pity. To think, her entire life could fit into one duffle bag, and an overseas account. Glancing around her room she absorbed the data that would surround her for… how had the agency put it? Oh right. _Indefinitely_. A single narrow bed covered in rough military issue sheets, one set of drawers (now filled with the total of her earthly belongings) and one additional metal door, presumably leading to a washroom of sorts. This was to be her life for as long as she was needed. Heaving a sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed and untied her sturdy boots. Pushing them under what was now her bed she laid back, fully clothed, and let exhaustion take a hold of her. There was no need to set a clock. Her mind was more dependable then any machinery currently made. Turning on her side to face the cold, unyielding cement she attempted to quiet her mind.

…

_**0600 Hours**_

Morning came far too soon. The buzzer which piped through the intercom system blared; assuring all the men that it was indeed time to rise. Some climbed reluctantly out of their bunks, while others simply crawled deeper into the military-issued covers. Others still threw objects found close to their beds at the offending noise; boots, books, and finally a bullet were all directed at the intercom. Then finally. Silence.

Breaking the silence came the ever present voice of annoyance. "Rise and shine sleeping beauties. We've got a briefing at 0800 hours. Maybe we'll get to see you new lady friend again." Wiggling his eye brows in what he probably thought as a provocative way, Wade jumped down from his bunk landing with a thump and a crash. "Ah, fuck! Who left the table here?! That's gonna' leave a mark! Oh god there's a hunk of wood sticking out of my leg! Aw, sweet mother of…"

A low drawl could be heard from just outside the door as John walked in stopping the rampage of profanity. "Come on Wade. I'll take ya to the medics. I'm headin' that way as is. Pickin' up our "lady friend"." With a smirk John began to lift Wade of the ground.

With an outraged look on his face, all the while dangling from John Wraiths arms, Wade gaped. Suddenly massive blood loss didn't seem so critical. "You been holding out on us Johnny boy?"

"Common' Wilson. Bring ya head back down to earth. Don't make me drag ya' ass all the way to the doc's. They ain't gonna' be happy to see you 'gain so soon, 'specially if you're dead." Kicking Wade swiftly in the ribs, Wraith glanced around the room. "Ya'll better get you're asses up. From what I hear we'll be headin' out real soon. I don't know about ya'll but I could use some grub before be move out." With one last look at the scoundrels Stryker fondly called a "team"; Wraith dragged a semi-unconscious Wade Wilson towards the sub-par medical facilities the base provided.

…


End file.
